Welcome to Hyperion Records, an independent British classical label devoted to presenting high-quality recordings of music of all styles and from all periods from the twelfth century to the twenty-first.

Hyperion offers both CDs, and downloads in a number of formats. The site is also available in several languages.

Please use the dropdown buttons to set your preferred options, or use the checkbox to accept the defaults.

Introduction

František Procházka’s quintessentially roguish anti-hero Kašpar Rucký is emblematic of a personality who, it appears, recognizes no cultural, ethnic, nor national divides. Though his circumstances are unique, Mr Rucký is an anti-establishment figure, an opportunist, even a philanderer, whose multi-faceted persona is mirrored by the figures of Till Eulenspiegel, the Good Soldier Schweik, and by the fanciful self-aggrandizement of Háry János, not to mention Janácek’s own Mr Broucek who, we are told, undertakes an excursion to the moon, with a little help from the poet and author—Procházka again—who compiled the libretto of the opera. Specific details, of time, place and personage matter little; Kašpar Rucký was favoured at the Imperial table, and knew the mystery of the philosopher’s stone. As a voyeur, he was incorrigible, standing at keyholes and lifting the curtains even on the Emperor’s private chamber—like Strauss’s Till, Mr Rucký reaps his just reward when hanged for his misdemeanours! But like Strauss’s mischievous but eternally lovable villain, his soul, it seems, is immortal. Janácek’s setting of Kašpar Rucký, for female voices with soprano solo, was written in 1916 and published in 1925.

Kašpar Rucký is but one of a significant group of choral works written following the dissolution in 1914 of the famous Moravian Teachers’ Male Chorus, founded in 1906 by Ferdinand Vach, who continued as its conductor until most of its members were conscripted into military service with the outbreak of the Great War. Vach was encouraged to maintain the choral tradition which under his leadership had become a major focus of Moravian musical culture, and resolved to re-form the chorus using exclusively female voices and with the same high degree of artistic idealism and the same pursuit of excellence as before.

Recordings

Enchanting choral works from the Czech master demonstrate a wide variety of styles—from the mayhem of the Ríkadla nursery rhymes to the serene beauty of the Lord’s Prayer—in this welcome reissue.» More

I pick it like a raspberry, this old bit of news, I’ll sing it to those who believe it and excuse those who don’t.

Mr Rucký here, Mr Rucký there. Ah, God, remember, what a gentleman! He rattled his sword, flourished his hat, brewed tinctures, was the Emperor’s frequent guest. Meanwhile he lined his own pockets with the Emperor’s gold.

He is said to have baked a philosopher’s stone in secret. It was like a grey whetstone. At night, after a good time at ‘The Hearts’, he gave a piece to each maid. Mr Kašpar here, Mr Rucký there. At philandering he was exemplary, and most of all liked to cook up ointments with his bevy of beautiful women.

He liked to stand at keyholes, wherever something was going on, wherever something was being said, he lifted up curtains, slid back bolts, the Emperor at times suffered sheer hell. Suddenly, though, there was an end to it: from the White Tower the bell now tolls for the condemned!

“He was a traitor, he stole, stole and philandered too much. As a warning, be slowly, oh so slowly quartered! Tomorrow, before night gives way to dawn, on the White Mountain be broken and quartered!” Mr Kašpar here, there, we’ll come to that little do. But in prison he already hangs from a cord.

Oh! but the sentence was carried out after all! Beelzebub, hidden, watched it, caught the soul in the morning as it flew out and hid it in a phial like gold. Mr Kašpar here, Mr Kašpar there. When he takes that soul out, there will be one absolute mess waiting for it.

And there was. Have the devil’s tricks ever failed? Tiny stars peeked out from the clouds, with a hundred eyes. Behold, a hundred thousand witches are marauding around the castle, on their heels a hundred thousand ginger cats. Mr Rucký here, Mr Kašpar there.

Evil is followed by worse evil and you among those witches and those cats on a fiery goat.

Oh, dear God! the castle is in a state, it has never in all its life heard such a racket. Sparks crackle from the cats’ whiskers, through gates and hatches they squeeze out one way or another Mr Kašpar here, Mr Kašpar there. What a strange celebration, when the bishop with his aspergillum wards it off from the window!

The Emperor cannot sleep, the guard is powerless, every witch wants a piece of goat’s hair, stretching out her bony arms towards the rider. The courtyard is full of burning hairs. Mr Kašpar here, there. It will wear you out very nicely, before the cock marks the end of all this by crowing.

This commotion lasted for forty evil nights, as if it were in the caves of hell— the damned man’s groans were slowly silenced and new jesters will continue to jest. If ever Beelzebub fancied frightening souls again, wherever for these cavalcades would he find so many goats!